Miranda
by MagicSwede1965
Summary: The daughter of Roarke's late cousin arrives, raising questions among his entire extended family.  Follows  'Pioneer Girl'.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** _It's been a truly insane summer for me, leaving me almost no time to write; but I finally have a story ready to go, and should have the rest of it up tomorrow (August 10). I hope everyone's had a great summer so far. This story comes from a suggestion offered by Misheemom, which finally developed into something postable after all this time. Enjoy!

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§ § § - August 15, 2006

It was one of those deadly quiet Tuesday mornings when Leslie was at home with Christian and the children, and Roarke was alone in his study, taking this time as he usually did to catch up on any backlogged paperwork and to choose fantasies to grant from letters presorted by Leslie. Rarely was he interrupted, except by the occasional vacationer looking for routine information; so he was slightly surprised when the door opened and someone came in who looked as if she had more on her mind than just lying on a beach for a few days and soaking up some sun. He arose immediately at sight of the woman standing in the inner foyer. While she was engrossed in taking in her surroundings, he studied her.

She was younger than Leslie, he noted, and had straight red-gold hair cut a couple of inches shorter than Leslie had lately grown hers. Her eyes were blue, and her features carried a sort of haughty beauty that looked cold and uninviting at first glance, but softened with emotion. He watched in silence as she absorbed the sight before her, before finally offering, "Good morning, may I help you?"

She started and blinked at him as if she hadn't seen him there at all. "I beg your pardon," she said a little breathlessly, a hand over her heart. "I apologize." She spoke in a crisp British accent.

"Not at all," Roarke said. "What can I do for you?"

She stepped slowly down into the study, now regarding him as intensely as she had the interior of his home. However, this time she spoke after a moment or two. "So you are Mr. Roarke," she said, and at his nod, went on: "I understand my brother lives on this island. I…my name is Miranda. Miranda Roarke." She yanked her gaze away from his and glanced around the room again, then cleared her throat. "My brother would be Rogan Callaghan."

Roarke nodded once or twice, regarding her in a new light. "My cousin's daughter."

That seemed to startle her; she stood up straight and stared at him. "You're Daddy's cousin? But…he never mentioned having any family at all…that is, except for Rogan, but I never learned much about him, since Rogan didn't live with him. I never really knew the full story, you see. Daddy spoke very little of certain things, even to me."

Roarke smiled faintly. "My cousin was not the most forthcoming of men, I must admit. However…yes, your brother does indeed live on my island, with his wife and young son. If you like, I'll take you directly to them."

Miranda opened her mouth, hesitated, then shut it again and simply nodded, with what looked like resolve. "Thank you, I'd like that."

Roarke drove her to the MacNabb B&B, where at the moment things were quiet. Rory was in the front yard, engrossed in some game involving a lot of model dinosaurs, but his parents were nowhere in sight. As Roarke stopped the rover beside the yard, Rory looked up and came trotting over to meet them. "Hi, Uncle Roarke!"

"Hello, Rory," Roarke said warmly. "Are your parents nearby?"

"Mom's cleaning rooms and Dad's in the greenhouse," Rory said. "Should I get one of them for you?"

"Yes, if you'd fetch your father for me, I'd be grateful," Roarke replied, and watched the boy tear across the yard in the direction of the greenhouse.

"So that's Rogan's son?" Miranda asked, staring after him.

Roarke nodded. "He's six and will begin first grade in the fall."

"My nephew," Miranda murmured, a sad, longing quality in her tone. Roarke looked askance at her; when she became aware of his attention, she schooled her features and even managed a smile. "Is he Rogan's only child?"

Roarke had just nodded again in confirmation when Rory emerged from the greenhouse and pounded back across the grass toward them, followed at a more leisurely pace by his father. "He's coming, Uncle Roarke!" the boy yelled.

"Thank you, Rory," Roarke said and killed the rover's engine, getting out of the car. Miranda followed more slowly, looking apprehensive; Rogan, for his part, stopped short for a moment, astonishment washing across his face. He leaned forward and squinted, then resumed his approach, staring at the young woman all the while.

"Sure and if it isn't Miranda," he said at last, pausing a couple of feet shy of her so he could stare some more. He shook his head a couple of times. "Well, now, didn't you grow up to be a lovely lass. What brings you to Fantasy Island?"

Miranda bit her lip and shrugged slightly, then peered at Roarke over her shoulder. "I think you can leave me here for now," she said, her voice taking an upswing at the end of the remark as she turned back to Rogan.

Rogan nodded immediately. "It'll be fine, uncle, she can stay with us. We've plenty of room," he said. "Thank you for bringing her over."

"Of course," Roarke said, then paused before getting back into the car. "If you need anything, either of you, don't hesitate to contact me." He waited for Rogan's and Miranda's acknowledging nods, then turned the car around and drove back the way he had come.

Brother and sister watched him go; when the car had disappeared around a curve, he turned to her and regarded the suitcase she had pulled out of the backseat. "Here, let me take that for you. Ach…you travel light, don't you."

Miranda blushed at his ironic tone. "I planned on a fairly long stay…if no one minds, that is. I know I came unannounced."

"Aye, that's for certain," Rogan agreed, heading for the kitchen door with his younger sister trailing him. "I suppose you resorted to buying a last-minute pass at the airport in Honolulu, then. Those'll set you back a very pretty penny or two."

Miranda shrugged. "It doesn't matter. I had to come. There was nowhere else for me to go, and money's no object, so…" She let the sentence trail off.

Rogan gave her a look over his shoulder, but she said nothing else, so he let the matter drop for the moment while he led her through Julie's spacious kitchen and into the front-facing living room. There he paused at the bottom of the steps to the second floor and called, "Julie, lass? We've a visitor."

They heard footsteps overhead, and a moment later Julie appeared at the top of the stairwell, peering down. "Huh? Sorry, I'm into heavy cleaning."

Rogan grinned. "Your favorite thing. Come down and give yourself a bit of a break, then, and meet my little sister Miranda." He registered, but set aside for the moment, the sharply startled look Miranda gave him.

Julie promptly trotted down the stairs and held out a hand. "Hi, Miranda, nice to meet you. I'm Julie—Rogan and I've been married for seven years now."

"Hello, Julie," Miranda said, shaking hands and smiling slightly back. Sensing her sister-in-law's reserve, Julie toned down her high-wattage smile, but remained warm.

Rogan hefted up his sister's suitcase again. "Have any rooms ready yet? I thought I'd get this thing up there for Miranda so she can change or rest, or whatever she wants."

"I'd like to change," Miranda agreed, "but I rested enough on the plane. I'd…rather talk. To you, Rogan."

"All right then," he agreed with a one-shouldered shrug. "Just follow me."

Julie said, "The two rooms at the left-hand end of the hall are ready." Rogan nodded, and she headed for the kitchen while Miranda trailed her brother up the stairs.

When he came back down, he found that Julie had set out a plate of cookies and another of crackers and cheese, along with a pitcher of pink lemonade and two tumblers. "I'd join you," she said, "but I need to get those last rooms finished."

Rogan grinned. "Never knew anyone who was into the domestic arts the way you are, lass. Tell you what, if Rory happens to come in, I'll send him up to help."

Julie snickered. "I'm sure _that'll_ get an enthusiastic response! But if you think you can get him to do it, be my guest. See you later." She dropped a kiss on his cheek and trotted back upstairs; a few moments later Rogan heard the roar of a vacuum cleaner overhead as he sat down and poured some lemonade. He placed a square of cheese atop a cracker and munched placidly while he waited for Miranda to come down; to tell the truth, he was glad of the break as well. He had been grinding amakarna all morning, trying to prepare a shipment to send to Christian's nieces in Lilla Jordsö, and had had to stop long enough to clean out the grinder when it jammed and refused to work. The only way to get the spice to the consistency he wanted it was to painstakingly grind it by hand, which was exhausting both mentally and physically. At those times, he sometimes found himself cursing the LiSciola family almost as much as he figured Christian probably did.

The sound of footsteps brought him back to the present and he shifted his attention to the kitchen doorway. Miranda came in, clad in a sundress and flat sandals, her hair caught back by a bejeweled barrette. She looked a little uncertain, and he smiled, hoping to ease it. "Have a seat," he invited, "and help yourself."

Miranda settled slowly into a chair, surveying the items Julie had laid out, and picked up a cracker, placing some cheese atop it and nibbling. "Not bad," she murmured.

"Julie's an excellent cook," Rogan said. "This is her childhood home and she runs it as a bed-and-breakfast inn, so you'll be well fed here. It's the slow season on the island, so you'll probably be able to stay as long as you like." Miranda nodded, and he cleared his throat and shifted position in his chair. "So…you wanted to talk, then?"

Miranda nodded again, a pensive expression clouding her features. Rogan waited patiently for her to speak; but when she did, the question surprised him. "What happened to Daddy?"

He gave her a cautiously inquiring look. "How do you mean, exactly?"

"I went to his island first," she said, and he blinked, a tingly cold sensation sweeping through him. She eyed him with a flash of concern. "You're pale; are you all right?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. Go on," Rogan said, his voice unintentionally brusque.

She squinted a little at him, as if she weren't sure she believed him, but then seemed to put it aside and continued. "Now that I think about it, I'm surprised I didn't have much trouble chartering a flight there. But the only one to meet me at the dock was Ariel, that shape-shifter Daddy had as one of his staff. In fact, she was all that was left, living alone in a cottage. The main house is falling apart from neglect, and Ariel said it's been closed up for years. Cal and Harry left a long time ago and she's heard nothing of them since. Ariel put me up overnight, but she said I might as well leave the island, since nothing was left for me there anyway. When I asked her about Daddy, she wouldn't tell me anything."

"More than likely she doesn't know, though I'd not be surprised if she did. Never did understand what Da saw in that woman," Rogan muttered.

"Didn't you get along with her?" Miranda asked.

"No. Rubbed me the wrong way somehow. So anyhow…you came here, then?"

"Mmmm." Miranda poured some lemonade and took several deep swallows. "Ariel suggested it. She told me this is the 'original' Fantasy Island and now it's really the only one left. Whatever that means." She frowned and pinned Rogan with a demanding look. "So that brings me back to my original question. Where's Daddy, and what happened to him?"

Rogan broke their gaze and made an elaborate production out of topping a cracker with a bit of cheese. At length he warned, "You're not gonna like it, lass."

Miranda's eyes widened and then seemed to ice over. "I'll be the judge of that. Just tell me what you know."

Rogan sighed. "Before I start…you're aware that Mr. Roarke, the man who runs this island, is Da's cousin, aren't you?"

"He mentioned it, yes," Miranda said.

"Uh-huh. Well, for many, many years, they were on the outs. Da had a lot of bones to pick with uncle, y'see. He had the harebrained notion that uncle had been handed everything he has here, while he himself got the short end of the stick. Ever since I first met the man, he'd been bitter as hell, and that had mostly to do with this imaginary rivalry between him and his cousin. At the time, uncle was ill with the bone-eating disease, dying from it, and Da was the only one with the cure. To shorten a very long story, Da was going to turn over uncle's soul to Mephistopheles, but in the end he couldn't do it, and gave me and Leslie the cure for uncle's disease. But in so doing, he sacrificed himself to Mephistopheles."

Miranda blinked once, twice, her face seeming stuck in one mode. Then she shook her head hard. "You're not saying Daddy's literally gone to hell?"

"That's what I'm saying, lass. It's what happened. Leslie and I saw it all."

Miranda scowled. "Who's Leslie?"

"Uncle's adopted daughter," said Rogan deliberately, and again Miranda blinked. "Yeah, it caught Da off guard too. Matter of fact, he made a point of twitting uncle about Leslie, since Leslie's merely human, and the only reason uncle adopted her was because he was fulfilling the fantasy her late mother asked of him. I thought it was the most hypocritical thing I'd ever seen. You're merely human too, after all."

Miranda folded her arms over her chest and gazed at him with a gradually mounting chill in her eyes. "Seems you were on no better terms with Daddy than he was with…with his cousin."

"No, can't say as I was," Rogan said, hiking one shoulder for a second or two to show carelessness he didn't quite feel. "I grew up with me mother till I was around fourteen or so, then she died and I was sent to Da. My reception was…well, let's just say he wasn't very happy to see me. I've never felt that he was glad to learn he had a son. And then I discovered some four decades back that he adopted you—"

"I beg your pardon," Miranda snapped immediately. "I'm only thirty-seven!"

"My apologies," Rogan responded, cocking one brow. "My point is, he happily took you in after that shipwreck you were involved in. Aha…" He caught the expression that flitted over her face. "So ye're surprised I know, are ye?"

His brogue was emerging again; Julie, Leslie or Roarke would have recognized it for the sign it was, but Miranda didn't know him well enough. "It's not as if we ever heard a word from you, after all," she pointed out.

"Sure an' ye didn't, for I knew well enough I wasn't welcome. It was Harry who let me know I suddenly had a little sister. He kept me apprised once in a while, when he thought to do it, I suppose. Da was thrilled with you, but he couldn't care less about me. Never really did, I expect." He hiked a shoulder again and swept an impatient hand through the air as though to wipe away the topic. "Now, there's a question ye haven't yet answered for me. What brings ye here? Just looking to find out what happened to Da, then?"

Miranda shifted in her chair and stared at her glass of lemonade. "I suppose so. I mean, I hadn't really thought of anything else."

"But you can't just up and leave, not when you just got here!" Julie was standing in the kitchen entrance, and Rogan wondered what she'd overheard. "You have to stay at least one night…it's such a long flight, even to Honolulu, after all the distance you've probably traveled." She sat down and helped herself to some lemonade and a cookie. "So you live in England, right?"

"No, New York City," Miranda said guardedly. On Julie's surprise, she added with a shade of reluctance in her tone, "I've never been to England, actually. I just absorbed the speech of my adoptive father. To be honest, I don't know where I was born, or who my parents were."

Julie's eyes rounded. "Oh my gosh. Well, then, maybe you should check with uncle. He might be able to find out for you, if you'd like to know."

Miranda snorted. "It doesn't matter much to me—never did. I was very happy growing up with Daddy. According to everything I've been told, I washed up on the shore of Daddy's island after a shipwreck in which everyone else apparently perished, including my parents. Even Daddy didn't know what ship it was or whose flag she flew."

Rogan grunted. "Shoddy, if ye ask me. Wouldn't get all the information he possibly could. Ship's name, skipper's name, passenger manifest, country of origin…couldn't even be bothered to find out if there were other survivors, I'm sure. He evidently never thought you'd have any curiosity about your ultimate origins."

There were two bright spots of color high on Miranda's cheeks, and her eyes blazed. "I was perfectly happy growing up with Daddy! We were both happy. He doted on me and I always knew he loved me. I had no reason to go looking for any family. They certainly didn't come looking for me. And I wouldn't have wanted to leave if they had." She leaned forward and glared at Rogan. "I think you're merely jealous because I got the attention he never gave you."

"Wait a minute," Julie cried, looking frightened.

But Rogan had had enough. "I don't need to sit here and swallow this. Julie, lass, I'll be in the greenhouse in case ye or Rory want to find me." He snatched up the tumbler of lemonade and vacated the kitchen.

"Stubborn old git," Miranda bit out, and left the room in her turn, stomping all the way up the steps. That left a very embarrassed Julie alone in the kitchen.

"Huh," she muttered. "That went well." Puzzling over Rogan's and Miranda's antipathy in her mind, she began to clear the table.


	2. Chapter 2

§ § § - August 15, 2006

Miranda ventured from her room about an hour later, feeling restless and fidgety, and almost tiptoed down the stairs. The big house was quiet, though she could still hear Rory outside playing. The kitchen turned out to be deserted, and she let herself out the back door and strolled across the yard, hoping the boy would be too engrossed in his playing to take any notice of her there.

"Hi, lady," he called. She stopped short, mentally cursing her bad luck, then pasted on a smile and turned back to him.

"Hello, Rory," she said, forcing a pleasant tone into her voice. She was amazed at how angry with Rogan she still was.

"Are you staying with us, or Uncle Roarke?" Rory asked.

"With you," she said, just as an inspiration hit her. "But I thought I'd go and visit Mr. Roarke. Could you show me the quickest way to walk there?"

"That path right over there," Rory said, pointing across the dirt lane that ran past the B&B. "Just stick to it and you'll get right to the house."

"Thank you," Miranda said, forced another smile and hurriedly took her leave, walking as quickly as she could and hoping it didn't look too obvious that she wanted to get away. Fortunately, Rory evidently dismissed her from his mind; when she glanced back upon gaining the path entrance, she saw that he'd gone back to his dinosaur game.

Satisfied that she was alone and unheeded, she allowed her mind to run in its own direction while she wandered down the path. Her whole life seemed to have gone upside-down in the last four or five weeks. First the awful news, then little Soraya, and then Josh; and now, her father. She might be able to forgive Josh someday, but not Rogan, not after the way he so callously seemed to dismiss their father's demise. This Mr. Roarke had been her father's cousin, she thought, remembering what her brother had told her. What feelings did he have over her father's death?

It was hard to believe it had happened the way Rogan claimed it had. He said he and Leslie, whoever she was, had witnessed it, but Miranda wasn't sure whom she should believe. She knew nothing about Leslie, and she was mad enough at her brother that she was prepared to dismiss anything he said as a lie. That left Mr. Roarke, but she wasn't any surer about him than anyone else. Her own father had been the last person left on earth she'd felt she could really talk to about what had happened lately in her life. She had grown up with Cal and Harry, but their whereabouts were a mystery; and she had never really been at ease around Ariel. Maybe it was that sinuous way she had of turning herself into something else, anything at all. She had never known what to expect from Ariel. So who was left, really? If nothing else, at least maybe she could find out more from her father's cousin. He seemed very nice, she thought, courtly and courteous and warm.

It occurred to her that she probably should have reached the main house by now and she stopped in the pathway to look around. She was surrounded by jungle. That wasn't particular cause for alarm; her father's island had its share of jungle too. But this was terra incognita, and she began to wonder whether Rory had deliberately led her astray. Her forehead furrowed into a scowl, and she plunged ahead on the trail, which at least was clearly demarcated, if nothing else.

By the time her feet began to ache in their dressy flats, she had the good fortune to find herself standing on the edge of a paved road, which was curiously empty of traffic. _Is this place that primitive?_ she thought, glancing one way and then the other. Directly across the road from her stood a metal post, painted red, with a small white rectangular sign bearing red letters that spelled out BUS STOP. _Very well, scratch "primitive", but I still haven't a clue where I am. Oh, how I miss Daddy…_

In the distance she heard an engine, and then a few seconds later, a car came around the corner—a late-model hybrid station wagon with two figures in the front seat. On a wild impulse, Miranda leaped into the middle of the road, waving her arms; the car came to a nearly screeching halt, its occupants looking shocked. She smiled, hoping she looked apologetic, as she approached the driver's side. The man at the wheel lowered the window and she leaned down. "I do apologize, but I was hoping perhaps you could…" Her voice trailed off as she recognized the man for who he was. "Oh my God, it's Prince Christian."

The prince released a resigned laugh. "I almost dared to hope for a second that you wouldn't know who I am. Yes, you've identified me correctly. Are you all right? Do you need any help?"

"I'm afraid so…I was going to the main house, but I seem to have lost my way. Have you enough room to…" She glanced into the back seat and let her voice trail off: there were three car seats filling it, all of them occupied by toddlers. "Oh yes, the triplets."

"There's a fold-down seat in the back," Christian offered with a raised eyebrow and an inquiring smile, "if you don't get carsick from riding backwards."

Miranda had to laugh. "Unless I'd rather walk, I suppose I haven't much choice. I do appreciate this." She peered across him to the woman sitting in the passenger seat, and new realization hit her. Somehow she hadn't connected Roarke's adopted daughter with the wife of Prince Christian of Lilla Jordsö. "So you must be Leslie, Mr. Roarke's daughter."

Leslie looked very surprised indeed. "It's been a long time since someone recognized me for that reason, instead of for being a princess. How do you know?"

"My name is Miranda," she said deliberately, "Miranda Roarke."

Leslie stared at her with shock blooming in her eyes; Miranda had an odd feeling of self-satisfaction before her conscience gave her a sharp jab. It wasn't Leslie she had a quarrel with, after all. "To clarify, my father is your father's first cousin."

"Ohhhh," Leslie murmured, her face clearing. "Rogan's sister."

"Yes," Miranda muttered grudgingly, causing Christian and Leslie to exchange a look. However, neither commented on it; instead, Leslie got out of the car and opened the back door for her, folding down the seat there and waiting for Miranda to climb in before shutting her firmly inside. Miranda sat at a diagonal, feeling foolish enough being all the way in the back without riding completely backwards. However, she was now in a position to deal with three pairs of curious little eyes staring unabashedly at her, and her heart contracted so suddenly that it seemed to hurt. _It's not fair, it's not fair,_ her brain chanted, as it had done so many times for so many days.

"So how long have you been here?" Christian asked conversationally, resuming the journey east along the road.

"About two hours, I imagine," Miranda said. "Mr. Roarke took me to my brother's home, and we…talked. For a little while." She saw the prince and princess trade looks again and admitted through a small sigh, "Truthfully, we argued."

"I see," said Christian. Leslie didn't speak, for which Miranda was grateful. After that, there was silence all the way to the main house, while the triplets went on staring at her as if she'd sprouted a new head from each shoulder. Miranda stared back, studying each child's face, wondering what might have happened if…

The car came to a stop, interrupting her thoughts. "We'll be a few minutes getting the kids out," Leslie said. "Go on ahead if you want, Miranda."

"Thank you," she murmured and took Leslie up on the invitation, glancing back once at the family in the lane and forcefully squelching another useless wish. Instead she focused on her objective, letting herself into the study and managing a polite smile for Roarke's benefit when he looked up at her entrance.

"May I help you?" he asked.

"Yes," she said bluntly, "you can tell me what happened to my father."

The smile and some of the warmth died from Roarke's features, leaving Miranda with a suddenly empty, frozen feeling. She watched him very slowly sit back in his chair and interlace his fingers across his stomach, his gaze going a bit distant before he frowned slightly. At last he said, "I don't know much. Your father and I had two or three confrontations before his…untimely passing. I was very ill and spent most of my time asleep, or perhaps comatose. Leslie would know more than I."

"I would? About what?" asked Leslie's voice just then, and Miranda and Roarke both looked around to see the Enstads just coming into the foyer. Roarke's smile came back and he pushed his chair away from the desk, just in time to greet the happy triplets with open arms as they flocked to him.

"About what happened to my cousin," Roarke told her. "You and Rogan were the only witnesses." He looked at Miranda. "Haven't you spoken with Rogan about it?"

"Briefly," Miranda said. For a moment her lips flattened into a grim line. "Let's just say I didn't like his attitude."

Roarke looked a little surprised, but said only, "I see. Well, perhaps Leslie will be willing to explain events to you as she remembers them."

Expectantly Miranda looked at Leslie, who cleared her throat, looking a bit uncomfortable. She drew in a breath while Christian and Roarke watched, then met Miranda's gaze and said firmly, "If I do, you're going to have to keep in mind that all I knew of your father was what I saw—what he allowed me to see. I know how Rogan felt about him, and from my point of view, I thought he might be justified. All I can say is, he must have treated you very differently from how he treated everyone else."

Miranda's first instinct, again, was to defend him. "He loved me, and I always knew it. He wasn't the horrible person everyone else seems to think he was. I never knew anything but love and kindness from him. If you've problems with that, then I'm sorry."

"You need not be so defensive, Miranda," Roarke said gently. "I, too, remember your father when he was a much happier man. At some point we fell out of touch, and when I saw him again, something had happened to change him. He seemed bitter about some event in his fairly recent past, but when pressed, he refused to explain."

Mollified, interest piqued, Miranda focused on him. "Have you thought about what it might have been? Do you suppose it had anything to do with Rogan?"

"It's possible," Roarke allowed. "I do know that he was very much in love with Rogan's mother, many years ago. Rogan tells me that his mother died of tuberculosis when he was fourteen, at which time he was sent to live with his father, who found his presence a very unpleasant surprise for some reason. It's my understanding that they did not get along very well, so that Rogan went out on his own as soon as he was old enough." Roarke paused for a moment, then focused sharply on Miranda. "You tell me you were adopted by my cousin?" At her nod: "Have you ever given thought to where you ultimately came from?"

"Very little, I'm afraid," Miranda admitted, for the first time feeling sheepish about this fact without understanding why. "I guess I just didn't care. I was always so happy with Daddy, and growing up on his island was so glorious, I had no reason to wonder."

Roarke smiled. "You'll find that you and Leslie have that in common, although I adopted her at a much later age. In any case, I well understand your point of view, but you realize I had to ask."

"Of course," Miranda said, feeling unaccountably generous. Overall, to her surprise, she felt a little more normal, for the first time in weeks. There must be something about this man that inspired trust, calm, even hope. She considered his question, then looked back up at him and suggested tentatively, "Perhaps, if you don't mind, you could find out for me."

"I could certainly try," Roarke agreed with a smile. "Tell me what you know of how you came to live with my cousin."

"Daddy was wandering along the shore one morning after an unusually powerful storm…perhaps a hurricane or something like it. In any case, he noticed a large wooden ship foundering some distance off the coast of his island, and there was debris all along the waterline. I was an infant at the time, wrapped in a blanket. Daddy picked me up and took me home, and I grew up as his daughter. That's all I know."

"You had no identification of any sort with you?" Roarke asked.

Miranda shook her head. "Apparently not, or else Daddy might have made inquiries. Just me, in the blanket and a nappy and sleeper, that's all. I don't even know my birthdate. Daddy and I used to celebrate it as the day he found me on the beach."

Roarke nodded contemplatively. "Very well. It's little to go on, but I can try. If you will tell me the year your father found and adopted you, I can research shipwrecks in that part of the world at the time, and that will be a beginning."

"I'm thirty-seven, born in 1969. Daddy said it was a wooden ship, as I recall. I thought all large vessels were built of some type of metal, rather than wood."

"That would certainly be unusual," Roarke agreed. "It may even be of some use in my search. Thank you, Miranda, you've given me a good clue to begin on. In the meantime…" He looked past her, and she realized that Christian and Leslie had corralled their children and were preparing to take them upstairs. "You might enjoy talking with Leslie, getting to know her a little. You two may find you have quite a bit in common."

"I'll be upstairs with the children," Christian said. "I have some preliminary sketches to make for a website design anyhow, so I can pass my time doing that and watching them. You two enjoy your talk. If you need me, my Rose, you know where I am." He and Leslie smiled at each other; then he ushered the triplets across the room and up the stairs, enticing them with promises of toys to play with.

Roarke secured refreshments for the two women, then excused himself and departed the house, leaving them alone in the study. Uncomfortable with each other, Leslie and Miranda sipped their beverages and smiled reservedly at each other when their eyes met, but otherwise there was silence for a few minutes.

Then Miranda sighed loudly and put down her glass with a thunk. "This is ridiculous! We're two grown women, we should be able to talk."

"Yeah, at least about superficial things," Leslie agreed placidly, watching her. "So how's the sangria? Mariki's is the best anywhere."

"It's very good, thank you…" Miranda let her voice trail off and stared back at Leslie, then felt her face heat. "You're right, this is very stupid."

Leslie laughed, and Miranda followed suit, relieved for some reason. "Well, now that we've gotten that out of the way…I think it's really good to meet you, after all this time. Rogan mentioned you in passing here and there, but he didn't say much. I used to wonder what you were like. I mean, even though we're both adopted, we're still cousins."

Miranda nodded, turning this over and finding she liked it. "So we are. I can't say I've ever had a cousin before. It could be interesting."

"My thoughts exactly." Leslie grinned.

Curiosity finally reared its head. "How did you come to live here?" Leslie's ensuing story fascinated Miranda so that she soon forgot any animosity she might have had towards her new cousin, till Leslie finished and Miranda shook her head. "That's the stuff of fairy tales. Your mother sounds lovely. I'm sorry for what happened to her and your sisters."

"Thanks," Leslie said and drew in a breath, sitting up to refill her glass. "I've always been glad she prevailed upon Father to adopt me. Otherwise I might be sitting in some women's prison somewhere, being bitter and hating the world. I sure wouldn't have met Christian and had the triplets." She smiled. "Between Father and Christian, I learned that not all men were like my birth father. I had a chance to grow up and be a decent person, and I had gifts that most girls couldn't even dream about. I was very lucky." She eyed Miranda with interest. "You must have had an idyllic childhood with Father's cousin."

"Oh, it was wonderful," said Miranda, her memory unspooling countless happy recollections of days gone by. "Daddy doted on me, and I loved him to distraction. He was such a kind and giving father, and he always treated me with love, so I never really cared one way or another where I originally came from. It never truly occurred to me to ask. I loved where I was and who I was, and I didn't want to be anyone or anywhere else. We were all each other really needed, and Daddy taught me so much about his world. I grew up thinking magic was normal and the outside world was strange and backward. It always amazed me to see the way Daddy's guests, and even Cal and Harry, reacted whenever I did some magic around them…as if they couldn't accept what their eyes told them." She paused because Leslie had an odd look on her face. "Is something wrong?"

Leslie blinked and hastily shook her head. "Oh no, nothing at all. I was just thinking it sounded…well, perfect. Anyway…" She cleared her throat and took a long sip from her glass. "It must have been an awful shock to find out what happened to him."

Miranda nodded soberly. "It was. Even worse than that, Rogan's attitude about it leaves much to be desired. Rogan says Daddy resented him and didn't like having him around, but I have to say, that makes no sense to me. Everything everyone's been telling me is utterly opposite of what I know, what I grew up with. Why? What happened, really?" She leaned forward when Leslie's expression became reluctant. "Please tell me."

Leslie shifted in her seat and wrapped both hands around her glass, then looked directly at Miranda. "Before I do, you need to remember that I'm telling you things exactly as I experienced them. It's not meant to be a slight on your father or anything else; it's strictly memory and nothing more. No judgments."

Miranda nodded. "I understand. But I do have to know."

"Okay. Well, this was a little more than seven years ago. My father had been involved with a woman named Paola LiSciola. I didn't like her from the start; I suspected she was up to no good. I won't get into it here, I'll just say that eventually we found out what Paola's true intentions were, and we banished her from the island. Within a couple of weeks, Father came down with some illness nobody could identify. Julie and I had to take over the fantasies one weekend because by then, he was so sick he was practically comatose and unable to do anything at all. We might have failed completely if it hadn't been for Rogan. He walked in out of the blue and threw a bomb at us—said he knew what Father had, and that Father was going to die from it because there was no cure."

Miranda broke in, "Rogan called it the 'bone-eating disease'."

Leslie nodded. "Yeah, that's what he told us. It's something only Father's people can catch—your father and any others with the same extraterrestrial origins. Paola LiSciola had those origins too, and she was the one who passed the disease on to Father. We had a little bit of palliative medicine in the house that I was giving to Father, but Paola's disease had been so advanced when she transmitted it to him that it was very severe in him, and he spent most of his time sleeping. Just being awake and talking could totally exhaust him. In the middle of all this, your father came here, and he seemed antagonistic from the very start. He wasn't happy to find Rogan here; it wasn't exactly a wonderful father-son reunion.

"Rogan and Julie were falling in love even then. He gained our trust by helping us resolve that weekend's fantasies to our guests' satisfaction, and then suggested we put up a notice on the island website that we were suspending fantasy-granting for a while so that we could figure out what to do next. Julie invited him to stay at her B&B. I had to go over there and get him because Father wanted to see him, and then after he did, Rogan mumbled something about getting the cure out of your father. I almost flipped out. I demanded that your brother explain himself once and for all, and he told me that he had arrived on your father's island a few days before Paola LiSciola's death. When Father banished her from this island, she went to your father's, and that's where she died. Rogan said she rambled a lot before she died, and he discovered that she was in love with your father—unrequited, as it turned out, and she'd been hoping to impress him by killing my father and turning this island over to yours. Rogan went through her things after she died and found a jar of amakarna, and kept it so that nobody else could do something heinous with it."

"Amakarna? Isn't that the odd spice that your husband's father and brother and nieces have had to take?" Miranda asked. "I heard about it when I read about your marriage to Prince Christian."

Leslie nodded. "It's too long a story to tell here. Anyway, he brought the spice with him to the island, thinking maybe to make up some more tonic for Father. We knew it wouldn't cure him, but it would help keep him alive at least. I just couldn't bear…" She paused, cleared her throat and took another breath. "But Rogan said only your father knew the cure and wasn't about to tell anybody."

Miranda felt punched in the gut. "That's not like Daddy…" she said, dazed.

"Not the father you knew…but I'm afraid it sounded like the one Rogan knew," Leslie said gently. "We never found out what happened to your father that made him resent Rogan's existence, or my father having what he does, or anything else. Maybe you were the only thing that brought any happiness into his life."

Miranda's eyes stung with tears and she squeezed them shut; a second or two later she felt Leslie take her hand and squeeze a little. "Are you okay?"

"I'll…I'll be fine." Miranda swallowed, squinted at the table and grabbed her sangria glass, draining a healthy percentage of the contents. After a moment she looked at Leslie and forced herself to request, "Please go on."

Leslie released Miranda's hand and swirled her glass a bit. "Rogan told me later on that he'd overheard your father plotting with no less than Mephistopheles to take Father's soul once the disease finally killed him. At that point I think I started to give up all hope. At the time, Christian was still trapped in his second arranged marriage—to Paola's little sister Marina, believe it or not—and I was trying to think of some way to explain everything that had happened when your father wandered in and found out my side of the story of his and my relationship. Paola had told him from her point of view already, so he was aware that Marina also had the bone-eating disease and expected to perish of it. He suggested to me that all I had to do was wait for Marina to die, and Christian and I could finally be together. The only problem with that was that not only would Marina die without the cure, so would Father. And Christian and I ultimately agreed that we'd never be able to be truly happy if we had bought that happiness with Father's death—that's the way he put it. He advised me not to let up on trying to get the cure from your father."

Miranda was convinced she was having trouble breathing. "Obviously you did, since your father is alive and well. But…how did it happen?"

Leslie stared at her worriedly. "Are you really sure you want me to tell you?" she asked at some length. "I mean…you don't look as if—"

Miranda made a slashing motion with one hand. "I have to know. Rogan says that Mephistopheles took him. But I don't understand how."

Sagging a little in acquiescence, Leslie nodded heavily. "Yes. The way Rogan told me later, it seems your father came on him and Julie together, making plans for their wedding; Rogan had just proposed to Julie and she'd accepted. I guess their conversation gave your father something to consider. At any rate, he came to the main house and asked Rogan and me to accompany him to his meeting with Mephistopheles, when he was supposed to turn over Father's soul to him. Except…he didn't. I'm not sure what motivated him, but he did say that he had been given too much time to consider things, and to observe what was around him, and he refused in the end to give over Father's soul. As I recall, he said, 'What sort of family does something like that?' "

Miranda felt a smile spreading over her face; this sounded more like the father she had known. "I knew he couldn't do it, I knew it…"

Leslie smiled too. "Unfortunately, Mephistopheles wasn't impressed. Your father gave Rogan and me each a copy of the recipe for the cure and told the devil he wasn't getting my father's soul. Then he offered himself in Father's place; and Mephistopheles was so angry he wasn't going to get what he thought he'd been promised, he just grabbed his arm and threw him right over a cliff, then leaped off it after him. And we've never seen nor heard anything of him since then." She wrapped Miranda's hand in hers again. "I'm so sorry, Miranda. But in the end, your father did something incredibly noble."

"That's Daddy," Miranda whispered through tears. "That's the Daddy I know."

"Rogan was upset," Leslie said. "He knew your father had chosen to do things the way he did, but it infuriated him that your father sacrificed himself. I think he wished there could have been a chance for them to reconcile and get to know each other."

This seemed to startle Miranda, and she stared at Leslie with several emotions playing tag across her pretty face. Finally she said, "Do you really think so? I just thought Rogan hated Daddy. Daddy never talked much about him, and I never really met him…not till my wedding." The last word made her flinch, and Leslie's head jutted forward a little, her eyes widening.

"Rogan was at your wedding? Did you talk with him then?"

Miranda nodded jerkily. "Only for a moment…he wished Josh and me the very best, and said he was going to try to see Daddy as soon as he could…" She closed her eyes, lowered her head and let the tears fall. Thinking of Josh was enough to utterly undo her composure; she no longer cared that this cousin of hers was practically a stranger.

"What's the matter?" Leslie asked, her soft voice anxious. "If you'd like to tell me…I promise not to spread it around."

Miranda brushed ineffectually at her tears. "It doesn't much matter. Josh left me last month. He said he was just too tired of trying…trying to, to…" She gulped back the sobs that wanted to explode from her and put a hand to her forehead before looking up at Leslie with streaming eyes. "Leslie, I can't have a baby. I just found out. Josh and I had been trying ever since our wedding night to get pregnant, and I finally discovered I'm infertile. That's why Josh left me. I could have lived with being childless if he'd been willing to stay with me and see it through—we could have adopted, just as Daddy adopted me. But he didn't want to stay around and hear that, he just walked out one day while I was at work."

Leslie winced. "Oh no. I'm so sorry."

"But the last straw…one of my patients died. You see, I'm a pediatrician. One of my favorites was a little girl named Soraya. She had leukemia, and everyone was so certain she would beat it. She was always upbeat and bright and cheerful, and made everyone around her so happy. You had to smile when you were around her. But then something happened, she took a turn for the worse and just…just died. Right after Josh and I found out about my infertility and the very same day he walked out. All this h-happened in j-just one w-week…" At last it was just too much for her and she crumpled, giving in to her misery.

She felt Leslie's hand on her shoulder and heard her gentle voice say, "And you needed your father to talk to, in the absence of anyone else." Miranda nodded hard, unable to speak, and Leslie's hand tightened on her shoulder. "Did you tell Rogan about it?"

"I c-couldn't," Miranda got out, nearly choking on her tears.

"Okay," Leslie said and gave her a quick hug. "It's okay. Just go ahead and let it out. Sometimes crying helps clear your head and you can start thinking better once it's over, so go right ahead and let it happen."

Miranda wasn't entirely convinced of this; all crying had ever done for her was give her a stopped-up nose and a terrific headache, and never seemed to make her feel better at all. But she couldn't hold back the emotions this time; it felt as if she'd been damming it all up for years, and the dam had finally burst, no longer capable of holding anything back. She let her head fall onto Leslie's shoulder and allowed the tears to have their way.

Leslie, for her part, held her newfound cousin, wondering how Miranda's Josh could have been so insensitive and shortsighted. She thought again about how lucky she was to have Christian, always so open and understanding—she remembered how he'd been willing to consider alternatives in the event they couldn't have their own children—and found herself wishing that Josh could be summoned to the island, so that she could read him the riot act for his lousy treatment of his wife. Miranda seemed so vulnerable, and Leslie wanted to help her.

But something Miranda had said came back to her then: Miranda had been taught to do magic. _Her father actually gave her magic lessons?_ Leslie wondered. _And they stuck, and even worked? Why didn't Father try to do that for me? If Miranda's just human and mortal like I am, and she could do magic, there's no reason I couldn't do it too. Is it just that Father won't teach me for some reason? Does he think I'm not capable? Is there some weird ethical code he has that's beyond my comprehension, that prevented him from teaching me, or did he simply decide I don't have the ability? _ She stared into space, frowning, barely aware now of Miranda's gradually ebbing sobs, trying to decide whether she should bring up the subject with Roarke and risk hearing a reason she just couldn't accept. _Ask him or don't? What if I do and I'm sorry I did?_


	3. Chapter 3

§ § § - August 15, 2006

Footsteps came down the stairs, but Leslie didn't really register them till Christian's hand landed on her shoulder above Miranda's head. "Are you two all right?" he asked.

Miranda sat up sharply and Leslie blinked, then focused on him while Miranda tried to hide her face and swipe away tears with one hand. "We're fine," Leslie said, hoping her voice sounded reasonably normal. "Miranda just needed someone to talk to."

Christian nodded. "I see. Well, the triplets are asleep from playing, and I thought I'd come and make sure you were all right. Where's Mr. Roarke?"

"He had to do something." Leslie turned to Miranda. "Did the crying help?"

"Maybe just a bit," Miranda allowed with a tiny half-smile. "Although I'm already getting the headache I always get when I cry."

Christian chuckled. "Mr. Roarke probably has a remedy for that. Look, it's not too far from lunchtime, so if you'd like to stay and eat with us, Miranda, I'm sure Mr. Roarke would welcome you."

Miranda peered up at him, surprised that as a prince, he was being so personable. She had always thought royalty was remote and haughty, impossible to reach in any way, and decided out of the blue to ask Leslie to tell her the story of how she and this particular prince had fallen in love. To Christian she said with a small smile, "That sounds lovely, I'd like that. Thank you, Your Highness."

Christian groaned softly. "If I'm not mistaken, you're Rogan's sister, and Rogan is Leslie's second cousin, so that would also make you her cousin, and therefore family. So you have no reason to defer to my title. Please, just call me Christian."

Leslie was grinning, and Miranda found herself wanting to laugh, to her enormous surprise. "You sound as if you're begging me to."

Christian did laugh. "Perhaps I am! I can't say that everyone listens—some of my employees can't seem to bring themselves to look past my royalty—but apparently, if I put in my request early enough, most people manage to put themselves at ease enough to just use my name. I hear enough deferential addresses and 'Your Highnesses' when Leslie and I go back to Lilla Jordsö."

"In that case, I'll be happy to call you by your name. Thank you, Christian." Miranda smiled, feeling curiously better. "When is lunch?"

Leslie checked her watch. "Within half an hour, and Father'll probably be back in time to join us. My love, I think you'd better wake up the triplets, or they'll either skip their afternoon nap or just be cranky because they missed lunch." Christian grinned back at her and headed up the stairs with a quick acknowledgement.

"Triplets," Miranda said, casting a glance toward the stairs. "How lucky."

Leslie snorted. "For a long time I didn't think we would be. I was married once before Christian, you know, for five years, and the whole time, we tried to have a baby and it didn't happen. Christian and I had been married almost three years before I got pregnant, and it wasn't for lack of trying in our case either. I'd started to think I was infertile, too. But we never expected to get three at once. Now I'm just as happy if I don't ever get pregnant again; I think three kids is enough for one family."

"I suppose I can't blame you," Miranda admitted, smiling sadly, "but in your position, I'd gladly welcome all the children my body could safely bear."

"I know," Leslie said and smiled back. "I remember being desperate to get pregnant myself. Well, look, how long do you plan to stay on the island?"

Miranda shrugged, surprised to realize she hadn't thought about it. Her business partner had suggested she take at least the rest of the summer; "in fact, you probably ought to stay away throughout September too," she had said. Miranda was willing; she felt worn out, right down to the bone, and for some reason her curiosity about her true origins had begun to assert itself, with her father gone and her only companions appearing to be this newly met cousin, her husband and children, and the mysterious man, so different from her own father, who owned this island.

She focused on Leslie. "To tell the truth, I'm not altogether sure. I might decide to stay till the end of next month. My practice partner actually suggested it."

"If you do decide to do that, that would be great," Leslie said, smiling. "You might find that it's the best thing you ever did." She was hoping for some minor miracle to come through for Miranda as well, such as, perhaps, Josh coming to his senses and looking to reconcile with her; but only time would tell about that. _And maybe Father too,_ she thought with amusement, which faded a bit as she remembered her resolution to ask him about teaching her magic. _There must be a way…_

‡ ‡ ‡

Miranda had lunch with Roarke and the Enstads, and it turned out to be a pleasant and enjoyable meal all around, with everyone getting to know Miranda better and Miranda learning a little more about them. She got the story of Christian and Leslie's romance prior to their marriage, and from Roarke she heard some more about her father in the days when the two had still been on good terms, as well as a few tales of Rogan when he had first joined the Roarke clan after his mother's death. Roarke had as yet no answers about Miranda's origins, but Miranda realized she really didn't care much more than she had when her adoptive father had been raising her. If she never found out where she came from, she knew it wouldn't matter much.

She did, however, tell Roarke about Josh, sometime after lunch when Christian, Leslie and their triplets had gone home. Roarke listened quietly, his eyes sympathetic; then he smiled slightly. "Did Leslie tell you about her own ordeal?"

Miranda nodded. "Still, she was eventually able to have children. I know for a fact that I never can." At his questioning look, she explained, "I'd been seeing a fertility specialist, and he explained to me that my Fallopian tubes are damaged. From the way he spoke, it seems they can't be repaired."

"Damaged?" repeated Roarke. "In what way?"

Miranda shrugged, feeling her face heat as it reddened. "I was so devastated, I didn't hear his explanation, and I suppose I simply didn't care to know. It was enough that all my chances to bear a child were gone." She caught his look. "What is it?"

Roarke regarded her with a strangely paternal look that somehow reminded her of her own father. "You have the right to know exactly what the damage is and whether it can be repaired. We have a specialist at the hospital, hired only a few months ago, and I believe once he has examined you, he will be able to tell you whether you are truly unable to have a child. It's always best to get a second opinion, Miranda." He smiled at her, and she felt warm again. "I strongly suspect that's what your father would have done for you."

She nodded a little and smiled back. "Yes, he would. Only…I think he would have been far angrier than you were just now."

Roarke laughed. "Perhaps so. My cousin was always rather volatile, and he often had to work hard to keep his temper in check. But from what I know, I believe he would have done all in his power for you, his beloved daughter." His features softened and he added, "As I would have for mine. Now, then, let me know if you'd like to see this doctor, and I'll make the arrangements for you."

Miranda felt hope rise within her. "I _would_ like that, yes…thank you," she said softly. "I appreciate what you and Leslie have done for me. I certainly never thought you'd…well, after all, I'm just a stranger."

"You are family, Miranda," Roarke corrected her gently. "Don't forget that. And don't forget Rogan, either. I think you two would benefit from a long talk and a mutual agreement not to allow your personal views of your father color your receptions of each other's stories. Rogan doesn't resent you, Miranda, merely the treatment he received from your father. He resents that my cousin treated you one way and him another. But now, you are each all the other has left; you must both let yourselves look past your vastly different perceptions of him and truly listen to each other."

"I understand," Miranda said, so softly even she wasn't sure she had spoken. "I'll think it over, I promise that."

§ § § - August 16, 2006

Leslie returned to work that Wednesday with an air about her that puzzled Roarke. Outwardly she didn't look that much different, and no one else seemed to notice; but he had known her too long not to spot it. He waited through the morning in case she decided to bring it up on her own; but she never said anything, and in fact he noticed her pensive mood becoming deeper as the day wore on.

Finally, after lunch, he broached the subject, rather bluntly. "Leslie, before you go any further with the day's errands, sit here and tell me what's bothering you."

Caught out, Leslie stopped and stared at him with the look and feeling of someone caught stealing from a woman's purse. "What do you mean, bothering me?" she tried to bluff. The subject had been on her mind almost continuously since Miranda's revelation, but she wasn't sure she was ready to discuss it yet; now Roarke was forcing her hand.

"Don't try to wriggle out of it, child," Roarke admonished gently, with a little smile. "If it's so important to you as to have taken up your entire day, it's better off in the open."

She gave up and sank into a chair, trying to still hands that wanted to fidget. After a moment, she decided the best way to go was just to take the plunge. "Well, okay then. It was something that came up in my talk with Miranda yesterday." She met Roarke's gaze, suddenly too agitated to keep beating around the clichéd bush. "Her father taught her how to do magic. She's as human and mortal as I am, yet he was able to teach her magic. So why didn't you ever teach me any?"

She could see she had truly surprised Roarke with thus question. He stared at her in motionless silence for a full ten seconds before very slowly sinking back into his chair. Without ever taking his eyes off her, he asked, "Miranda mentioned this to you during your talk, you say?" At her nod, he finally looked away, his expression troubled. With a few faint headshakes, he admitted at some length, "I didn't know about Miranda's ability to perform magic, but I seem to have a recollection of Rogan's telling me that my cousin had taught her." He looked at his daughter again. "Miranda's father may have seen no harm in it, but I wasn't certain you, as a mortal human, could handle the ability."

"So I really could do magic…if I knew how," Leslie said, for the moment merely amazed. "I just figured it was beyond my capability to understand."

"That could still be a possibility. All humans are different, Leslie. Miranda may be capable but you not." He cleared his throat and winced a little at some memory. "Besides, I did try it with at least two short-term assistants…with disastrous results."

"You mean the ones between the time Lawrence left and the time I came back from Finland after Teppo died?"

"Yes. You never met either of them. They were both more than willing, but as I said, the results were nothing short of catastrophic. One of them came quite near destroying this very house."

Leslie made a few snap connections in her brain and yanked her spine erect in the chair. "So you didn't teach me because I was a klutz and you figured I'd just lay waste to the whole island, then!"

Roarke sat up too, hands raised. "No, Leslie, no, not at all. It was nothing of the sort, believe me, my child. Any clumsiness you may have demonstrated was mere human foible, nothing out of the ordinary. I just felt…" He hesitated, as if thinking over what he wanted to say; then he sighed and looked at the date book that lay open on the desktop. "Quite frankly, I didn't teach you for the same reason I didn't teach Tattoo or Lawrence. All three of you have consistently displayed amazement at various of my abilities, time and time again. From this I was forced to draw the conclusion that you were not emotionally equipped to handle even the simplest of powers such as mine."

Leslie sat silently, processing this, remembering many, many incidents in which both Tattoo and Lawrence had professed disbelief or wonder at some of the things Roarke could do. And, to her shame, she remembered a lot of her own as well. Over the years she had been stunned at the achievements brought on by potions, talismans, walls of fog, the time-travel room; and at the nature of some of Roarke's guests: ghosts, angels, goddesses… And how about the astonishment she'd evinced at the existence of unicorns, mermaids, leprechauns, and even Santa Claus and the Tooth Fairy? She closed her eyes. No wonder he didn't think he could teach her anything beyond the mixing of simple potions. She was still constantly overwhelmed by what he did and how he did it.

"Leslie, are you all right?" Roarke asked after a long time.

Her face felt hot, and she supposed she was blushing enough to shame a flock of cardinals, but she forced herself to answer. "Yeah, well…I guess I see why you didn't think I could be trusted."

"Oh, Leslie, Leslie…it's not a question of trust." These words made her open her eyes at last, out of sheer surprise. "I trust you implicitly. If I didn't, do you think I would have taught you how to make potions this summer? The problem is that you were already nearly fourteen when you first came to the island, and you had already learned that things you so readily believed in as a little girl weren't true after all. This is the mindset you brought to the island, and the one you continue to hold, even though you've spent two-thirds of your life here. Your worldview was already set enough, even at the age at which you came to me, that you simply could not blithely accept every otherworldly thing that happened here as a mere tool of the trade. That same mindset would have worked to prevent you from fully learning the things that my cousin probably taught Miranda and the things I would have liked to teach you. Miranda was with her father from infancy, and grew to accept what others would call 'fantastical' things with impunity. She was raised with them from a time before her memory began, and considered them normal. Do you see?"

"So it's not that I'd…" Leslie began, trying to find the words. "Not that I don't _want_ to learn, but that something in my subconscious mind would prevent it."

"Exactly," Roarke said, nodding, his features sympathetic.

For some reason Leslie felt betrayed by her own mind, by something over which she had no control. After a moment she pushed the question out, feeling like a small girl who had just failed a fundamental test. "Do you think I'll ever overcome that handicap?"

Roarke smiled. "The only one who can answer that question is you, Leslie. If you believe you can retrain your subconscious…"

"You don't think I can," Leslie broke in, thinking she sensed skepticism in his voice.

"Did I say that?" he riposted, still smiling. "It's not easy, you know. The subconscious mind is a very elusive and tricky thing, a piece of us that we somehow still fail to completely own. That piece of us can take the smallest doubt and turn it into an unsurpassable obstacle. It can seize on a fairy tale or ghost story and turn it into something that seems all too real, and will 'prove' said reality by causing the merest hallucinatory glimpses of the monster around the corner, or the ghost lurking in the attic. I know you remember Danny Collier, many years ago, whose marriage was repeatedly postponed by a host of minor accidents. Do you recall what I told him?"

It was one of the weekends that had always stood out in Leslie's mind, and she nodded in immediate recognition. "You said the subconscious mind can play bizarre tricks on everyone. That maybe his accidents had psychological origins, and that on some level he wasn't sure he really wanted to marry that woman, so his subconscious was employing sneaky tactics to keep it from happening."

Roarke nodded. "Yes, indeed. The subconscious picks up on things we barely notice in our everyday existence, files them away, processes them for later use in ways we can't even begin to understand. It has been said that dreams are the subconscious' method of processing each day's events and activities, even if the method in question presents itself in the most baffling ways. However…there have been those who have been able to train their subconscious minds to aid them in what may have seemed like impossible endeavors, and the potential to do so lies within all of us. What you make of that potential, Leslie, is entirely up to you. How badly do you want to learn? More urgently, do you believe it to be so important to you that it will give you an advantage in your job as my assistant—or are you merely looking for some way to feel yourself equal to Miranda?"

Once again Leslie's face flamed and she dropped her head, shame creeping over her. "I guess that might have been my knee-jerk reaction," she confessed low. Roarke was quiet, and she looked up cautiously after a moment. "Boy, you really know how to grab the knife and slice right to the brutal heart of a matter."

At that he laughed. "I might not have put it in quite such violent terms, but in essence you're right. I was suspicious, knowing that you've never before complained about your lack of magical abilities. Now that you find Miranda, a mere mortal just as you are, is capable of performing these feats, suddenly you've grown jealous and want to blame me."

"Ouch!" Leslie blurted and winced. "Okay, okay, you've made your point—you can stop the psychoanalyzing now, if you don't mind." She smiled a little reluctantly at his grin. "I suppose it'll take me a while to stop being jealous, but if I start having a hard time, I'll remind myself of all the self-doubt I went through last month when you entrusted me to mix up a potion all by myself. If I had trouble believing I could handle that, then it's no wonder you wouldn't be enthusiastic about trying to teach me more complicated stuff."

"Perhaps one day that will change," Roarke said. "Until then, however, I think we've laid the subject to rest. Do you feel better now?"

"More or less," Leslie said candidly, evoking another grin from him. "But I'll get over it. Thanks for the talk, Father."


	4. Chapter 4

§ § § - August 16, 2006

At roughly the same time, Miranda, who hadn't seen her brother all morning, was just finishing her own lunch, picking desultorily at a plate of fruit Julie had set out and watching Rory splashing in the pool with a few children of some of the B&B guests. After a while Julie came out to retrieve the plate and paused to peer at her sister-in-law. "You okay?"

Miranda looked up, squinting in the sun, and asked a question that surprised even her. "What happened to Rogan?"

Julie let out a laugh and glanced away to her left. "Gosh, haven't you figured out that guy by now? He spends so much time in the greenhouse, I'm constantly teasing him about taking root in there. He's not exactly antisocial, he just prefers the company of plants, I guess. If you don't mind the humidity level in there, feel free to go in and beard him in his den. I'm about done, I'll stay out here and watch the kids."

Miranda smiled, thanked her, and waited till she had come back out without the plate before pushing herself to her feet and strolling toward the greenhouse with more assurance than she felt. She and Rogan hadn't spoken since their unfortunate argument in the kitchen the previous morning, and Miranda had gone so far as to eat at the pond restaurant before returning to the B&B. Then she'd dawdled much too long before coming to breakfast today and finding herself the only one at the table. Julie usually didn't provide lunch for B&B guests, feeding herself, Rogan and Rory as a general rule. Miranda, as family, had been included in this group, but she had been quite surprised when Rory had come out of the greenhouse bearing what amounted to a lunch order from Rogan. Julie had grumbled, but had prepared the food he'd asked for and sent Rory back with it.

Well, Miranda mused, Julie was probably right, it was past time Rogan came out of his cocoon. She'd been thinking for many hours now about her talks with Leslie and Roarke the previous afternoon, and had come to the conclusion that Roarke was right and she and Rogan needed to have a long and serious talk. Even if it didn't result in their seeing eye-to-eye about their father, maybe at least they could finally feel at ease with each other and become friends.

She entered the greenhouse and meandered through the rows of exotic plants, many of which she had never seen before, pausing often to examine and sniff a particularly enticing bloom, before at last fetching up against a wall in which was set a door that bore the following sign: _Knock Before Entering! Unannounced Visitors Will Be Composted._ The message made her grin in spite of herself before she lifted her fist and rapped on the wood a few times. She was rewarded with a muffled, "Who's there?"

"It's Miranda," she called.

There was a moment's silence, leaving her uneasy enough to wonder if she had damaged her relationship with her brother beyond repair; then she heard footsteps, and the door opened enough for Rogan to poke his head through and regard her. "Hello."

"Hi," she said uncomfortably. "I…I hoped we could talk a bit."

Rogan shrugged. "If ye like," he said, pulling the door back enough to admit her and then closing it after her.

She swept her eyes across the three long tables crammed with plants far stranger than those in the main greenhouse, but less colorful and attractive, then turned and offered, "I like your sign."

For a second Rogan looked blank, then his face cleared and he grinned. "Works on everybody but Julie and Rory. So what brings ye here, then?"

Miranda glanced around for a place to sit, came up short and leaned awkwardly against one of the tables. "Well…I was talking with Leslie yesterday, and she explained to me exactly what happened when Daddy died. So…so I know the truth of things. But it was Mr. Roarke who convinced me to come and talk to you. He said it's not me you resent, so much as the way Daddy treated you versus the way he treated me, and that's what colors our respective memories of him. I was hoping that…well, that before we start to talk, for now we might agree to disagree."

Rogan regarded her without moving for a few seconds, then nodded and cracked another smile, gentler this time. "All right, I'll take ye up on that. So what exactly do ye want to talk about? Da, or his attitudes, or what?"

"Well…I know you remember him as brusque and resentful and disagreeable, and I remember him as loving and caring. I suppose it's got into my head to wonder why we saw two such opposite sides of him, when we're probably the only two children he had."

Rogan nodded, then dragged two wooden stools away from a wall behind some tall plant that looked to Miranda like a brilliant scarlet-and-purple weeping willow with arrow-shaped leaves. "I think we'll need these." They seated themselves and made themselves as comfortable as they could; Miranda noticed her stool's legs were slightly uneven and shared a laugh with Rogan over the wobbly nature of the thing before they looked at each other. Then Rogan said, "Tell me what you remember of Da's finding you."

"That's just it, I don't. I was a baby. Mr. Roarke's looking into my true origins, but he doesn't seem to have turned up anything yet. I'd rather hear your story. I know only that your mother died and left you with Daddy."

He nodded again. "My mother was Caitriona Callaghan, and it's possible she might have been some relation to Julie's family, but we don't know for certain. And she didn't exactly leave me with Da. I had to find me own way to him."

"I don't understand," Miranda said, blinking in confusion.

Rogan slowly raked a hand through his hair, his eyes sliding out of focus as he cast back into his memory. "Well, now, let's see…I was fourteen, a scrap of a boy, too small for me age. I was Mum's only child, and it was my understanding that when her family discovered she was expectin' me, they cast her out to fend for herself and disowned her. The only reason I survived was that she took shelter in an abandoned cabin and gave birth to me there, and then took to the roads again, looking for family that might take her in. My first memories are of travelin'. She hunted up one side of Ireland and down t'other afore she realized at last that no one was takin' us. We were truly on our own, and Mum was already sick as it was. She eventually took us to Dublin and we became street beggars."

"Oh," breathed Miranda.

"Mind ye, this was in days long, long past, long afore there were such things as electric lights and running water. I take after Da's side of the family for longevity. By an' by, a rich citizen took some pity on her and hired her on as scullery wench in his mansion, and gave us a room we shared. I slept in a trundle beside her bed, and I eventually got assigned to garbage detail—collectin' the refuse in every room in th'place and takin' it out. But even with this job, we still never got enough to eat. The servants had evolved a caste system of sorts, and those who'd been there longest were at the top of the totem pole. We were the newest, thus treated the worst, and that translated into food rations. The tenured servants ate the best, and we got what little was left over, which wasna very much.

"Mum had what they called 'consumption' in those days—they call it tuberculosis now. It was a slow progression with her. She used to take some kind of secret medicine to ward it off and try to stay healthy. It worked till I was about twelve or thirteen, and then she began to decline and her tonic couldn't keep up with it. She knew what was comin', and took to tellin' me about me da and his family. She told me over an' over again, when she was gone, I was to go lookin' for them. She described Da to me in such detail, there was no way I could have missed him when I saw him. It occurred to me at some point that from the way she talked about him, she must have loved him very much, and when I asked, she said it was true. I couldn't understand why she left him if that was the case, and she explained that she hadn't wanted to burden Da with the fact of her illness, so she'd slipped away from him.

"So when she finally died soon after I turned fourteen, the master of the house went so far as to give her a decent burial, but then he said I was too small and scrawny to take on her job, and kicked me out. I asked him if he knew of folk named Roarke, but he said he'd never heard of them and gave me a shove to press his point. I got the message all right, and set off walkin'. I was figurin' up one coast and down t'other, just as Mum had to do when I was a tot, but I was lucky for once. I'd barely got a hundred paces down the road out o' Dublin when I met up with a family member—this island's Mr. Roarke, Da's cousin. When he heard me story, he bade me travel wi' him, and took me into some secluded part o' the country where the clan was livin'. There were a lot o' us at that time. I described Da to him as Mum had told me, and he took me right to him.

"Da was shocked when I told him me story, an' right off he was furious. I didn't understand why he was railin' so much, and now that so much time has passed, I can't remember most of what he said." Rogan paused a moment, frowning with the effort to recall his father's words. After a long time, during which Miranda began to notice how hard the wooden stool was beneath her rear end, Rogan mused slowly, "Y'know, now that I think about it, I think he was angry because I came alone, without Mum. I think maybe he would've taken her back gladly, even if I came with the package…but since it was just me, he was upset. I seem to recall a lot of 'Why didn't she trust me? Why did she leave me?' It seems to me," he concluded, peering at Miranda with surprise glinting in his irises, "that he musta felt cheated somehow. That Mum had kept me to herself, and instead of bringin' me to him personally so she could see him one last time, she simply died in isolation and sent me off to find me own way." He sighed gently. "I look quite a bit like me mum, so I'm sure he was reminded o' her every time he looked at me. I stayed with him till I was eighteen, and the day after me birthday, I took off for less hostile environs." He shook his head. "Let me tell ye, little sister mine, it was a damned tryin' four years."

"Do you mean that you and Daddy never got along?" Miranda asked.

Rogan made a barking sound that she supposed was meant to pass as a laugh. "Aye, there's a colossal understatement for ye. We just never saw eye-to-eye on anythin'. Every time I could, I got away, mostly to Da's cousin. Uncle was a wanderer by nature, I think, but he musta sensed I needed a more stable father figure than Da was willin' to be, and stuck with the clan enclave till I was old enough to leave. An' he it was who taught me about the powers I inherited from his side of the family, and some about how to use them. He fed me a trawler-load of plant lore when he noticed where my interests lay, and gave me the secrets of many a plant most humans think is either extinct or just plain fictional. He taught me enough about amakarna to be able to grow the stuff, insofar as it allows itself to be grown by anyone." He smiled wryly at that and indicated the three tables Miranda had first seen when he'd let her in. "That's it right there. It took me a year to outsmart the stuff, but by St. Paddy, when I did, I wasted no time puttin' it to good use. I get good money for the sale of this stuff. Christian's nieces, the daughters of his late brother the last king, are the last members of his family to need it; but they were put on it by the king, so I cut 'em a break an' give 'em a nice little discount. Anyone else who uses it, uses it by choice, and there aren't too many customers for it overall; so those who have the choice, I charge handsomely. I'm not goin' uncompensated for th' effort it takes ta grow that beast."

Miranda had to laugh, and admitted, "I don't blame you. So that's how Prince Christian was freed from his arranged marriage, and was able to come here to marry Leslie."

"Aye, that's how. I'd had a few run-ins with the current count LiSciola, when his da was still alive and dealin' honestly and aboveboard with Christian's ancestors, and I knew that when the count's da passed and he took over, it was gonna be bad for them. I only wish the stubborn stuff hadn't resisted me efforts for so long. It took me ten months just to get it to grow without wiltin' and dyin' on me; and then another two months to grind the spice and have it treated so that it'd be palatable. I had to threaten Julie with a spell or two that year to keep quiet. She wanted like nothin' imaginable to tell Leslie what was goin' on, but I was afraid of jinxin' the whole operation, so I insisted she keep her mouth shut."

"Julie does like to talk," Miranda agreed with a grin. "Not that that's such a bad thing. I like your wife very much. She's too sweet and guileless to resent, even when she's talking enough for six people."

Rogan snickered. "There's a habit Rory's picked up from her, but that's not all he's got. He has both her family's powers and ours, so he's a force to be reckoned with. After he ran amok in his kindergarten class last year, uncle laid down the law that Julie an' I had to teach him basic manners afore he'd consent to coachin' Rory in the use of his magic."

Laughing with him, Miranda shook her head and resettled herself on the stool, then eyed him thoughtfully. "You know, I think you might have something there, about the reason for Daddy's attitude toward you. Having heard the story, I seem to remember that once, when I was little…maybe five or six…he mentioned someone named Caitriona that he had loved deeply, a long time ago. I remember asking what had happened to her, and he said gruffly that she was long dead and it was water well under the bridge. He never spoke of her again after that, and I wondered for a while, then forgot about it. Till now, anyhow."

Rogan tilted his head a little to one side and peered at her with interest. "How did he look when he talked about Mum, then?"

Miranda recognized a wistful, longing undertone in his voice and smiled. "He didn't change expression much, but I saw his eyes. For just a few seconds, there were tears in them. It was the only time I ever saw Daddy even come close to crying."

They looked at each other for a minute, then Rogan cleared his throat. "I suppose he really did always love Mum, Ariel or not."

Miranda snorted. "Oh, Ariel. Now that I've heard the background, I have a feeling your mother was the reason Daddy was always running hot and cold with Ariel. Sometimes he treated her as the love of his life, other times he acted as if she was his sister. Ariel always showed patience, but sometimes I wonder if she didn't have temper tantrums over him in private."

"Temper tantrums!" Rogan burst out and started to laugh. "I always thought that woman would seem more real if just once, she threw a nice big fit." At that Miranda broke into giggles too, and her heart felt like it was filled with helium, sharing laughter with the older brother she had never really known very well.

Eventually Rogan regained some composure. "Ah, Miranda, lass, 'tis truly sorry I am that we were never closer. I suspect Da and I can share the blame equally. But I've the feelin' that he felt protective of you, to the point that it took his passin' for us to finally learn the truth about ourselves and each other, so that we could really become siblings."

"Then, maybe, Daddy's death wasn't meaningless after all," Miranda said hopefully.

Rogan smiled at her. "No, I don't think so. An' if he has any sense, and any way of knowin' what's happenin' in this realm while Mephistopheles is havin' his fun wi' him, he'll be glad his two offspring finally connected."

"I hope so. I think so," Miranda murmured, just before Rogan slipped off his stool, pulled her off hers and hugged her. She hugged him back, for the first time feeling truly as if he were a part of her family.

§ § § - August 23, 2006

Leslie went to meet the plane just after lunch, taking along Christian, who was expecting a shipment of CD-ROM programs from his Sundborg office. While Christian gathered his box and signed for it, Leslie greeted a few celebrities who were arriving for an extended vacation, and then nodded to an uncertain-looking man who seemed close to her own age, whom she had never seen. "Welcome, can I help you with anything?" she asked.

He stopped and blinked at her as if he hadn't seen her there. "Yes, if you don't mind," he said, clearing his throat. He struck her as being extremely nervous. "I'm looking for my wife. Miranda Collingwood. I'm Josh Collingwood, her husband."

So this was the guy who had walked out on Miranda when he found she couldn't have kids. Leslie had to work at maintaining a professional demeanor. "I see," she said. "She's here on the island, staying at her sister-in-law's bed-and-breakfast inn. Unfortunately the inn's fully booked, so we'll have to take you to the hotel."

Josh nodded a little jerkily, his eyes darting all over the place as if searching out his quarry. "I understand, that's all right. I…I just hope Miranda will be…might be willing to see me. I didn't realize how much…" He stopped, cleared his throat again and finally met her gaze. "Oh, man, I'm sorry. I didn't really realize who you were…Princess Leslie."

Leslie had to crack a reluctant smile at that, noticing simultaneously in her peripheral that Christian was looking on, his expression highly amused. "Not really here on the island, Mr. Collingwood. Just Leslie will do. Rogan and Miranda are my second cousins, so maybe the best thing for you to do would be to get settled in a hotel room, then come to the main house and talk with my father."

"Sure, okay," Josh agreed, too quickly. "Thanks." She pointed out the waiting jeep that would take him to the hotel, and he snatched up his suitcase and darted toward it, as if he had bloodhounds nipping at his heels.

From beside her Christian chuckled sympathetically. "Poor man, you could read it all over his face. He's dying to reconcile with Miranda."

Leslie, who had been watching Josh flee, snorted. "Well, good, at least he feels some remorse and knows he's going to really have to make it up to her."

Christian dropped a kiss onto her cheek. "A little tolerance, my Rose. He's here and he's willing, so give him the benefit of the doubt, would you? Come on, I've got to get these back to my office."

Somewhat less than an hour later, Josh Collingwood returned, looking less rumpled but just as nervous and worried as when he'd first arrived. Leslie let him in and gestured wordlessly to the desk, where Roarke was scheduling fantasies through the rest of the year. He looked up and paused when Josh slowly approached the desk. "Yes?"

Josh introduced himself in a halting voice, then cleared his throat when it cracked in the middle of a word and more or less fell into the nearest chair. Leslie took over. "He's Miranda's husband, Father. Just got here. I don't know whether she'd be willing to see him, so I told him to get a hotel room and then come over here."

"I see," said Roarke. "Very well, then, if you'll make a run to the post office for me, I'll speak with Mr. Collingwood." She nodded and left, and he turned to the fidgeting young man in the chair. "So you wish to see Miranda, do you?"

Josh actually squirmed; Roarke thought he'd never seen anyone more nervous. Over the week Miranda had been here so far, Roarke had grown as fond of her as he was of her brother, as his cousin's children whom he called niece and nephew for simplicity. As a result he felt protective of her, and wasn't about to let the young man off lightly. He was, however, more than willing to give some leeway in the face of the fact that Josh seemed to want to make amends with Miranda. After a fair amount of hemming and hawing, punctuated with myriad fleeting glances that barely met Roarke's stern, steady gaze, Josh finally nodded his head in a gesture that made it look more like a severe shiver. "Y-y-yesssssir."

Roarke regarded him. "Tell me why."

That succeeded in stilling Josh for all of five seconds, before a hand crept up to fiddle with the knot of his tie in fluttering, skittish motions. "B-because I want her back," the young man finally said simply. "I-I-I was wrong and I-I made a m-mistake. A b-b-big one." Once more he cleared his throat, then spoke slowly and very carefully. "I just w-want to make it up to her."

Roarke nodded, his expression never changing. "Do you think it's possible?"

Josh shot him a startled look, then seemed resigned. "Guess y-you already h-heard all about what I d-did, huh? Y-yeah, well, ok-kay, th-that's fine. All I'm a-asking is th-that you give me th-the chance to t-talk to her, t-to make her understand that I want…want another chance, that I l-love her and c-can't live w-without her."

Utter surprise saturated the young man's face when Roarke smiled broadly at him; it was enough of an answer for Fantasy Island's enigmatic—and romantic—proprietor that no further explanation was needed. "Very well." He picked up the phone and dialed Julie's B&B, then asked for Miranda; it took but a few words to arrange to have her come to the main house. Miranda had lately begun calling him "uncle", just as Rogan and Julie did, and it had made Roarke feel as though he had extended family for the first time in what must be centuries. Most of the clan was gone now; it was good to have Miranda in the fold.

Josh's stutter had finally fallen away, Roarke noticed when he spoke again. "You mean you're actually letting me see her?"

"Of course," said Roarke, as if surprised he even had to ask. Then he narrowed his eyes at his visitor. "You are, of course, quite serious about winning Miranda back? Because I must remind you, you hurt her very badly, and I daresay it will take some devoted and sincere persuasion on your part to regain her trust."

Josh sat up straight, indignation chasing the last of his nervousness away. "I'm gonna tell you something right now, Mr. Roarke. I love Miranda. I loved her from the first second I saw her, and I thought, _I'm marrying that woman and she's gonna be the mother of my kids._ And I didn't let anything stop me. I still love her, and there's still nothing that's gonna stop me from making her see how much."

Roarke eyed him. "I seem to recall that the issue of children is what caused the rift between you to begin with."

"Yeah, it was," Josh admitted, turning red. "I thought it mattered to me, but I had enough time to think about it and realize it's really Miranda who matters most."

"Hmm," Roarke mused. "Well, that's very good…I hope you can convince her."

Josh suddenly looked worried; but before he could say anything, Miranda appeared on the terrace, framed by the open French doors. "Josh," she gasped.

Josh stood up, and Roarke smiled at her. "Why don't you two sit on the terrace there and talk," he suggested. "I have some urgent work to do here, so the patio will give all of us the privacy we need."

"Th-thanks, Mr. Roarke," Josh said and headed for the door; Roarke noticed his hand trembling again as he crossed the room, and stifled a smile before resuming his task. It was all up to Miranda now.

"Well," she said as they took seats on one of the iron benches on the terrace. She sat as close to the end as the armrest would allow. "So what brings you all the way here?"

"Remorse," Josh said frankly. "I-I was an-an idiot, Miranda. Y-you know h-how I always wanted k-kids, and I guess I m-made that out as w-way more important than it sh-should've been. I d-don't care if we h-have k-kids or not. I j-just want you back. I w-want you to come back h-home."

"You're the one who walked out," Miranda pointed out.

He reddened. "Yeah, I know, b-but…w-well, you know what I m-mean." He slapped the wrought iron between them, his eyes glinting with exasperation. "C-come on, Miranda, you can't t-tell me you d-don't believe me."

She started to grin. Josh always stuttered when he was really nervous. He had stuttered the first time he'd asked her out, when he'd proposed, and when she had suggested he meet her father (which, as it turned out, had sadly never happened). She had learned to tell by the stutter when he was so terrified that he had to be sincere. Otherwise he was just as cool, calm and collected as anyone she'd ever met. Right now, he was practically falling apart from shaking so hard. "No, you have me there," she admitted willingly. She sobered once more, recalling yesterday's results from the specialist at the island hospital, and gave him a sharp stare. "Even in spite of everything, you still want me back?"

Josh nodded, the nod that always made him look as if he were standing in the Antarctic with no coat on. "I l-love you more th-than anything, Miranda, anyth-thing in the whole w-world, even having k-kids. Wh-what the heck, w-we can just do what-whatever we want. T-travel and st-stuff like that."

That was all she wanted to hear. She threw herself at him and hugged him hard. "I'd started giving up all hope that I'd hear you say that. I love you too, Josh." She sat up and then smiled at him. "But there's just one small thing. Well, maybe not so small."

"Y-yeah?" Josh prompted, still shaking, but obviously greatly relieved.

Miranda pulled in a breath. "I saw a doctor here. It turns out the specialist who first diagnosed me was wrong. There's nothing wrong with my Fallopian tubes—nothing they can't fix. I'm scheduled for an operational procedure here on the last day of this month to repair the damage, and then I'm told I should be able to have all the children we want."

Josh blinked, then began to laugh. "Of all the ironies. I walked out on you for the lack of a second opinion. Aw, Miranda, honey, I love you so much. Last day of the month, huh? Well, however long it takes before you're up and around again, I'll be right there by your side, okay? I'll be there, no matter what."

"I know you will." Miranda beamed at him and hugged him again. Inside, as they chuckled and clung in their reunion, Roarke cast a quick glance through the French shutters and smiled quietly to himself, then resumed penciling in names.

§ § § - August 31, 2006

"Hey, Aunt Miranda, are you and Uncle Josh really gonna leave again? Before we can tell more stories about Mom?" Rory asked, sounding greatly disappointed.

"More stories?" Miranda echoed. She had had her procedure a few hours before and had awakened about ninety minutes ago to find not only Josh, but Rogan, Julie, Rory, Roarke, Leslie and Christian at her bedside. "What sort of stories?"

"Funny ones," Rory said eagerly.

The others looked at one another, and Roarke chuckled. "We've made it an occasional habit to relate memories of past fantasies I've granted," he explained. "Rory seems to find them quite entertaining, and since he himself has begun to discover that he's old enough that he must work to control his powers and the impulses and temptations that come with them, we have all felt it wise to tell him now and then, so that he understands the great responsibilities that come with powers such as his."

Miranda nodded, grinning. "Oh, I see. Well, my doctor said a while ago that I should really rest for a couple of weeks before Josh and I go back to New York, so if you find the time to have one of these reminiscing sessions within that period, I'd be more than happy to sit in on it. It sounds like fun."

"Think it was anythin' like what Da might've done once?" Rogan asked his sister.

Miranda rolled her eyes. "Something tells me no. It'll be fun to find out, though."

"Aye." Rogan let his gaze slide to Julie. "We've told stories on uncle, Leslie, even Tattoo, uncle's former assistant. But me lass here worked for him for a year so she could save enough cash to open the B&B, an' I'm sure there's no shortage of stories we can tell on her, hm?" He grinned at his amused uncle, making an exaggerated show of ignoring Julie's indignant glare. "I think it's me wife's turn for a little ribbin'."

"And I can remember a good one, too," Leslie put in wickedly.

"Hey, no smart remarks from the peanut gallery!" Julie snapped at her, red-faced, but looking good-natured even in the midst of her seeming annoyance. Everyone laughed; it hurt Miranda to actually laugh, but she grinned widely, already anticipating the occasion.

"So it's a real family get-together, huh?" Josh asked with interest.

"That it is," Rogan said. "As uncle said, we did it ostensibly for Rory's benefit, since the lad so enjoys the tales, but I gotta admit, Christian here and I are just as fascinated as he is. An' I guarantee, you an' me little sister'll have a ball listenin' in."

"When do you get out of the hospital, Aunt Miranda?" Rory broke in excitedly, evoking more laughter. They made arrangements to meet in Roarke's study two evenings later, the day Miranda was scheduled to be discharged, and Miranda found herself looking forward to the gathering—as much for the new sense of family that she now had as for the entertainment value her brother had promised. She met Josh's gaze and he squeezed her hand with a grin. She relaxed onto her pillow, content.

* * *

_We too will be joining Mr. Roarke and his entire family for the next story night…so stay tuned! I'm not likely to be able to post before September, however, due to extenuating circumstances that will be solved only by the resumption of school for my stepsons. See you then!_


End file.
